Unless First a Dream
by sheena lee
Summary: Dr. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist, was definitely not a gambler. - Spoilers for the 100th episode. Oneshot


**Spoilers for 100****th**** episode. NO NOT READ if you haven't seen the episode. This is just a short one shot, an "in the head" version of the events. It changes POVs in the middle, just 'cause. ;D  
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**This story is meant to be read in a serif font. Don't ask, just do. ;)**

**This is my first story posted on , I have a few over on fictionpress, but I haven't posted there since 2003… be nice!**

**Enjoy, reviews welcome & appreciated!**

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As they left Sweets' office, Temperance Brennan knew what was coming. She wasn't the type to rely on her gut; though this was not a feeling, she rationalized. She knew. She _knew_.

They had not spoken of the first time they met, a year before they became partners, before they became friends. They did not acknowledge the attraction, the sexual tension, the tequila, or the kiss. She knew that, if they had, the dam would have indeed broken. She couldn't let that happen.

She didn't dare admit it, but she knew Sweets was right: she did believe that all meaningful relationships were doomed. Hadn't her life been the case in point of that? With the exception of what she had with Booth, but a _partnership_ wasn't a _relationship_. At arm's length (fooling herself, she could believe that he was only at arm's length), he couldn't break her heart.

"Hate psychology," she heard herself say. He was no longer walking with her though, and her heart skipped a beat.

"I'm the gambler," he said from behind, a hint of hesitance in his voice. "Look, I want to give this a shot."

She turned to him. "You mean us?" she asked, buying time, feigning ignorance. She reminded him of the FBI's policy, how they would not be allowed to work together. He was close to her now. She felt his breath mix with hers. He was nervous, she could feel it – it made her nervous too.

Dr. Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist, was definitely _not_ a gambler.

She didn't want to say no. But she _had_ to say no, for his sake, for her sake, and for the sake of their friendship. She was scared – no, terrified – that changing the nature of relationship meant ending it, if not immediately, then definitely eventually. He was the only person she could count on, the most important person in her life. She wouldn't – _couldn't_ – lose that.

She needed to protect him from a broken heart. He deserved someone better, someone like him, who wanted to get married, to have kids and live in a house with a white picket fence and a dog. She didn't want those things, and she wanted him to have everything he wanted.

Seeley Booth only wanted her. Nothing else seemed to matter in that one moment, when time stopped and he laid his heart on the line.

He thought that if he just kissed her, showed her how he felt, she might feel it too. He thought maybe she would somehow understand how hopelessly _in love_ he was. He would not only give his life for her well-being, but do everything in his power to make her happy. All he wanted was to be given the chance to prove it.

Yet, she pushed him away with a tearful and regretful, but forceful, "no."

He wasn't prepared to beg, though in retrospect he knew he should have been. His mind reeled, cloudy and slow from an overwhelming feeling of sadness with a hint of desperation. He told her that he wanted to go for a different outcome, different than the one they faced six years before. All he wanted was for her to listen, listen to his reasoning, his _logic_.

He knew, he just _knew_. Right from the first day, when he smiled at her and asked her if she believed in fate, he knew he could love her 30 or 40 or 50 years from now. It's been known to happen, he knew. He wanted to make her believe in love, to believe in love _with_ him.

"Your evidence is anecdotal." Had he expected some other response? He usually found her logic-oriented mind endearing. That night, it was anything but.

"I'm that guy. Bones," he said desperately, "_I'm that guy_. I _know_."

He could barely hear her when she told him she was not a gambler. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew she had changed, that _he_ had changed her. Why was she now so reluctant to believe that she could change?

She looked at him with tears in her beautiful blue eyes and said, "Please don't look so sad." He thought he might break down, and looked away.

At some point during the conversation, he began to see how hopeless the situation was. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, to trust him with her heart, to _let him_ love her, prove that he wouldn't leave like the rest. Somehow, the words didn't come. He glanced back at her for a second before turning away, lowering his head in defeat.

"You're right. You're right." Though he didn't believe his own words, he resigned with a sigh. He spoke words about moving on, knowing he may never be able to do that.


End file.
